The anguish to his arm was so great that
he could not continue; he could do nothing but suffer whatever fate had
in store for him. He tried to pray; but his prayers were broken and
confused ejaculations.
All at once he distinguished amid the chaos of noises roaring and
singing in his ears something which made his heart stand still; which
pierced to his dulled consciousness like a stab. It was the cry of
"Fire!" He had once seen a servant with her hair in flames, and
instantly arose before him the picture of her shriveling locks and the
terror of her face. He seemed to see the dear head on his bosom--The
thought was more than he could bear, and for the first time he cried
out, shouting for help in a transport of frenzied fear. He was so
absorbed in his thought of Berenice that he had forgotten himself; but
the realization of his own peril revived as a waft of smoke came over
him, choking and bewildering. He was then to die here, stifled or
wrapped in the torture of flame. Then the wild and desperate thought
sprang up that at least if he must die he should die with her on his
bosom, clasped in his arms.
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